


and one of them is how bad I need you

by Lyxxie



Series: beck and call [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blowjobs, I promised you smut and here it is, I'm jarchie dumpster muppet, Jarchie - Freeform, M/M, Realistically a lot of foreplay, eye-fucking, handjobs, idk enjoy this gratuitous display, it's possible I might have a thing for necks so, let's play the name game, ta-da, this is smut hiding behind a thin veil of plot, welcome back to the world of happiness and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyxxie/pseuds/Lyxxie
Summary: It’s a spot of contention for the both of them.It’s a game Jughead's not convinced they completely understand the rules to, one where (technically) they both win every time anyway.But that doesn’t mean Jughead's not going to keep playing.ORThe boys play 3 rounds of a game neither of them really knows the rules to. All they know is that they can't let the other win, except they always do anyway. Let's play a love game, play a love game.





	and one of them is how bad I need you

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I'm just as surprised as you are that this thing is 14.1k words. I legit have no idea how that happened.
> 
> Anyway, we all had too much sadness from my last fic so I wrote everyone this gigantic thing. 
> 
> It's honestly probably a PWP, like it's just sass and porn.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for waiting patiently while I wrote this monster, and to Usagi for betaing. Please enjoy this treat. 
> 
> Bisoux. xx

It’s a spot of contention for the both of them.

  
It’s a game Jughead's not convinced they completely understand the rules to, one where _(technically)_ they both win every time anyway.

  
But that doesn’t mean Jughead's not going to keep _playing._

  
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t remember exactly how it started, with his grin pressed into the skin of Archie's shoulder and voice like layered honey as he murmured teasing words, searing like flames.

  
It starts with them sitting on Archie's bed, Archie doing an assignment that Jughead had finished days ago.

  
“How can you leave homework so late? That’s due tomorrow, Arch.” Jughead chastises, frowning over at the other boy and pausing his work on his laptop.

  
“I always seem to find myself doing more important things.” Archie mumbles, one hand rubbing just above his eye.

  
“Like pointedly ignoring actual schoolwork?”

  
Archie shoots him a look, and Jughead raises an eyebrow in self-defence. “Like football practice, or spending time with my _boyfriend_ when he’s not being a smartass.”

  
Jughead's quick grin is smug, a cat who got the cream. “I don’t think I’m ever a ‘smartass’. I’m just smart.”

  
Archie's snort is immediate, and the next look he gives Jughead is withering. _“Right._ Just yesterday you spent 20 minutes lecturing Ronnie about the difference between fairies and elves.”

  
“She called Tinkerbell an _elf._ They say what she is in _every movie._ It’s a huge plot point. They literally have to chant ‘I do believe in fairies' for her at one point, Arch.”

  
“I know. Do you know how I know? You talked about it for _twenty minutes,_ Jug. I timed you. I think Betty _filmed_ you.”

  
“She was _wrong!”_

  
Archie’s laughing now, the image of Jughead so heated reminding him of the day before, and he shakes his head. “So you know the difference between fairies and elves, but can’t tell when someone is goading you into a rant?”

  
“I knew.” Jughead huffs, another frown pulling his eyebrows together.

  
“And?”

  
“I didn’t care. She was _wrong,_ Arch.”

  
Archie’s sigh is careful, hiding the laughter that still swims through his eyes. “Uh huh. Well, now I have homework to do and you’re being distracting. We are not getting into this again.”

  
“You started it.” Jughead mutters, side-eyeing the other boy. He’s waiting, bait out, to see if he can tempt Archie into a not-argument for his own amusement. His grin is concealed behind a false frown, his writing all but forgotten on his lap.

  
It’s just that Archie gets so _animated_ when Jughead riles him up, face flushed and hands gesticulating wildly. It gives Jughead the excuse to watch him (as if he needs one), gaze dancing over his features and smile soft, a boy in love.

  
He thinks Archie might have caught on some time ago, because the redhead periodically does the same to him, laughing as he kisses him mid-discussion.

  
A thought occurs to him suddenly that maybe Veronica was riling him up for Archie's benefit. He feels a flutter in his heart, across his cheeks, and tucks the note away to ask her later.

  
Archie turns back to him almost immediately, mouth open and eyebrows drawn in, and Jughead has to work harder at hiding his triumphant smirk. But Archie catches on, eyes narrowing, and sits up a little straighter.  
“No. I’m not falling for that. I actually have _work to do,_ Jug.”

  
Jughead’s gaze is neutral, one eyebrow raised before he returns his attention to the laptop in front of him. “No one's stopping you.”

  
There’s a slow intake of breath from Archie, an exhale through his nose, and Jughead can see the other boy's eyes narrow a little more, distrustful. He turns back to his homework, though, and Jughead waits until he can hear the pencil scratch across the page. He smiles at his screen and continues his work, positive for now that Archie is stubborn in his choice. He can almost see the resolve across the boy's body like a physical thing, armour over his person, and he has to bite back the bubble of laughter at how easily he can affect him.

  
It’s about five minutes later that Jughead gets an idea, slithered up from the base of his spine and hissed into his ear like the sinful temptation it brings. He blinks at the laptop screen, spares a thought to finishing his current sentence, and then gets to work enacting it.

  
There’s something in Jughead that feels bold, brought about by the early afternoon Sunday glow coming in through the window, or the empty house around them, or the boy sitting nearby. Jughead's not positive which reason is strongest, just that they seem to put something in his blood, some challenge he needs to create, or face, or both.

  
He closes the lid on his laptop and gets up to put it on the desk, pausing to stretch out his limbs. Archie's eyes are on him, and Jughead catches the way they follow the slip of skin that shows as his shirt rides up. He lowers his arms and Archie raises his gaze, returning the smile that he offers easily. Jughead moves to sit beside him - much closer than before - and orients himself just so, leaning towards the other boy and craning his head over his shoulder to look at the page.

  
He lets the air out of his lungs carefully, blowing it gently over Archie's earlobe, and glances at the other boy's arms to see the goosebumps raise up. Archie turns his head to the side slightly to glance at him, and Jughead lowers his chin onto his shoulder.  
“Looks like it’s coming along well. You've got a run on sentence there, though.” Jughead murmurs, pointing at one of the paragraphs and using the motion to brush his nose lightly against the shell of Archie's ear. He tracks the swallow that edges down the other boy's throat with a smile.

  
“Oh.” Archie clears his throat, takes a deep breath. Jughead tries not to laugh, watches the beginnings of a flush bleed across Archie's cheeks. “Thanks.” Jughead nods, another brush of their skin, and waits. Archie moves his pencil to the paragraph in question and stills. He starts to erase, pauses again, continues, and Jughead realizes with a zip of delight that he’s freezing on every one of Jughead's exhales, at every breath across his neck.

  
Jughead wonders briefly if this might be easier than he thought. Like shooting fish in a barrel, taking candy from a baby, or tempting someone with the object of their affections.

  
It's with a grin that Jughead ups the ante, tilting his head to nose behind Archie's ear, grazing his lips over skin.

  
“Jug,” Archie's voice is part warning, part question, and Jughead can hear the crack threatening the end, a dead giveaway of Archie's state, a victory banner. He hums noncommittally, presses his grin more firmly to Archie's neck.

  
“Keep working. Don’t let me distract you.”

  
Archie curses under his breath and Jughead hears it like wind chimes, foretelling the coming breeze when you can already feel it, as the other boy tilts his head slightly, an instinctive reaction to allow Jughead's ministrations. Now Jughead does laugh, a soft thing carried past his lips as he moves them over Archie's shoulder, moving his shirt out of the way with one hand. He imagines he can feel Archie’s blood under the skin, rushing by to flood different areas of his body while Jughead keeps it warm like a bellows.

  
“Jug - _shit_ –“ Jughead presses teeth just once into the junction of Archie’s neck, can almost feel the whine trapped in the other boy's bones. “Weren’t you _just_ getting mad at me for not doing my homework?”

  
Jughead hums an affirmative, hand inching over Archie’s arm, long fingers reading along the raised flesh like braille. “You're right. This is probably too much for you, I’ll control myself.” He finds his words easily, bubbling up from the wellspring in his thoughts that’s been dedicated to Archie, cataloguing every movement, sound, like and dislike.

  
And Jughead knows how he is about challenges.

  
He retreats from Archie all at once, flopping himself back to lay behind him on the bed. As he moves, he notes the edge of Archie’s paper, crinkled and compressed in his clenched fingers. Jughead places his linked fingers over his stomach and smiles at the ceiling, can hear the next sharp intake of breath from Archie trying to quell the flames in his nerves.

  
He waits.

  
He doesn’t have to wait long.

  
It's only a few seconds before the book, paper, and pencil are dropped to the floor with a dull thud, overshadowed by Jughead's victorious laughter. Archie's turning on the bed with another curse, swinging a leg up and between Jughead’s, a hand on either side of the other boy's head to cage him in. Jughead's laughter has died down to a series of snickers, eyes taking in the sight of the slightly frazzled boy above him.

  
“Too much for _me?”_ There’s a low thrum in Archie's voice, a quiet rumble that Jughead feels as a whoosh of air in his stomach. The cheeky grin he gives in reply has Archie kissing him, lips hard against his to push forth the fire he started. Jughead uncurls his fingers to run gentle touches up Archie's arms, quenching nothing. “We'll see who it’s too much for.” The promise is murmured against his lips, a quick reprieve before Archie slides his hand over his cheek and around the back of his head, calloused thumb sweeping across his cheekbone as Jughead parts his lips for him. He’s still smiling as he curls his tongue around Archie’s, sighing as the other boy traces the back of his teeth and moves his hand down, finger pads catching on the material of his shirt.

  
Jughead thinks he may have been trying to prove a point, something about how noticing that someone is purposefully trying to get you to do something and giving a shit about it are two different things, but the lesson escapes him as Archie roves firm fingers under his shirt, bumping over his ribs like he's trying to find an entrance into his heart. It escapes him as Archie's hand comes back down as blunt nails, making him bow up into him as he trails it along his skin. It escapes him as those fingers tuck in the front of his jeans, palm curving around the front to hold his belt buckle.

  
They get lost for a moment, soft sighs and sliding lips driving them away from any coherent thoughts, and Jughead moves a hand into Archie’s hair to hold him firm above him. It's when Jughead hears the metal scrape of his zipper that he all but crashes back into himself, remembers he had the rough outline of a plan, decides to respond to the promise Archie set.

  
“You're the one who just gave up on an assignment because I _touched_ you. Are we really going to try and discuss who's the easiest to break?” Jughead asks, brainpower focused on keeping his voice even. Archie pulls back to look at him, and Jughead can see only dark eyes and a sprawling smile as the redhead considers the proposal. The eyes slip down to watch Jughead pull his lower lip into his mouth to wet it, slower than strictly necessary, a test. When they meet his again he can see bright lights in their depths, the grin having given them a glow, and Jughead has a moment to consider the possible repercussions of his decisions before Archie's leaning in and tugging on that bottom lip once with his own teeth, a quick show.

  
“Game on.” Is all Archie says, running the edge of his teeth along the sharp line of Jughead’s jaw. Jughead's mind throws images at him of their previous competitions as a reminder of his track record (the running scoreboard for their multiplayer video games has Archie in the lead by a healthy margin), but blanks again when he feels those teeth snap closed at the corner of his jawbone.   
Archie hums against his skin and Jughead skips the preamble, fingers undoing the other boy's belt and button faster than either of them can blink. He stills again for a moment as Archie laughs over his skin and presses fingers into his side, his hip. Starts a pattern of biting little kisses along his throat in harmony with the clench of his hand, and Jughead finds his hips beginning to flex up in the same tempo.

  
“Fuck.” He breathes, feels the smile in the next press to his neck.

  
“Careful, Jug. You already seem to be falling behind.”

  
Jughead bites his tongue against a smart reply and flexes the fingers in Archie's hair, tugging him away from the winning section of his neck to kiss him again, licking into his mouth and pushing up against his hips. Archie groans, the noise vibrating along Jughead’s tongue, and the grip on his hip gets firmer, a show of strength that makes Jughead buck into him once more.

  
There’s a beat of pause where both boys are pulled back for a moment, breathing laboured and skin electric, before the challenge flashes in Archie's eyes and Jughead presses a grin to his lips, releasing his hair to push the other boy's jeans down his hips. Archie leans back on his knees to let Jughead do the same, inches of skin revealed like roadmaps, and when they’ve both lowered them enough to spring free, they meet each other’s gaze again.

  
Jughead realizes he didn’t exactly think this far ahead, the impulsiveness of his actions pulling his features briefly into a frown, but Archie flicks eyes over to the nightstand and back over Jughead’s lower half, brown eyes dark and hooded.

  
“Race you?” Archie murmurs, grin impish and fluttering through Jughead's system, an ocean breeze over turbulent waters.

  
“What?”

  
“Opposite rules. Last to cross the finish line wins.”

  
Jughead's sure his eyebrows are a straight line, confusion wafting through his muddled thoughts, and Archie leans over him to briefly rummage in the night stand drawer, pulling away with the small bottle of lubricant they keep there. Jughead remembers buying it months ago, early in the start of their relationship, mixing it in with his drug store purchase and tucking it into Archie's hands when they were alone next, heat across his cheeks like fire.

  
He can’t remember ever regretting the decision, though, with stuttered gasps and Archie's broken pleas seared into the skin of his shoulder as the boy rolled above him.

  
He blinks away the memories, a quick swallow that he knows Archie's tracking.

  
“I still don’t-“

  
“Like the treehouse, but together.”

  
That has Jughead’s breath coming out in a whoosh, dawning realization growing with the flush on his skin. “Oh.”

  
“You can back out if you’re too chicken.” Archie laughs, a hushed thing, and Jughead makes a face at him.

  
_“Really?”_ As he continues to laugh, Jughead rolls his eyes. “Go fuck yourself.”

  
“Not quite.” Archie hums, leaning towards him for another kiss, slow and languid, but Jughead nips at his lip and delights in the shudder it causes.

  
“Fine, you’re on. No cheating.”

  
“When do I ever-“

  
“You try to cheat in _every game,_ Arch.”

  
“How would I even cheat at this?”

  
“I’m positive you’ll try to find a way.” Jughead mutters drily.

  
Archie's grin cannot be hidden, and instead he squeezes a bit of the bottle's contents into his palm and reaches out to Jughead’s, passing some to him and linking their fingers for a moment. They separate and hover hands over each other, and Jughead watches the shaky intake of breath the other boy takes. Jughead raises an eyebrow, question clear, but Archie surges forward in a quick move to bracket teeth over his collarbone, fist closing around his cock at the same time.

  
“A- _ah_ , _fuck,”_ Jughead gasps, body bowing at two points, heart beating in strange colours behind his eyelids. _“Cheater.”_ He hisses and feels the laugh more than he hears it. Archie starts another rhythm, similar to earlier, slow strokes along his length and teeth along his skin in the exact way he knows turns Jughead’s body to jelly, makes his knees shake and noises loud. Jughead arches his neck to give him more room, stretch out the twitching muscles, and whines in the back of his throat, some low noise that could possibly be an attempt at swearing for all he knows, mind blank and _wanting._

  
Jughead almost gives in, can see how easy it would be to forget their ridiculous gambit, but he feels Archie’s grin searing into his skin the next time he groans and remembers all at once. He reaches out again and curls his fingers around the base of Archie's cock, squeezing once before giving a firm pump. The redhead bucks his hips forward to chase the action, cursing in a hot puff of air beside Jughead’s ear.

  
“Jug,” It’s a soft moan, a rasp, and Jughead urges Archie's mouth to his again, tasting him with lips and tongue as he works him with twisting strokes. _“Fuck.”_

  
They break apart for air, Archie resting his forehead against Jughead's as they pant and sigh into each other’s space, lighting the other on fire again and again, touch after touch. A shiver runs the full length of Jughead’s body as Archie runs a sloppy thumb over the tip of him, and when he cants his hips upwards he connects their bodies with a stuttering gasp from them both. “Nn- _ngh_ , _Arch,”_ he breathes, and twists his wrist to make the boy above him moan and shudder.

  
Archie moves back but Jughead follows, night chasing day, sitting up with him and squeezing again as he latches onto his neck this time. He laves his tongue beside the hollow in Archie's throat, soothing the area before sharply pressing teeth there on the next deliciously firm stroke along his length with a whimper. Archie's head lolls to the side, boneless, and the way he groans Jughead's name has the dark-haired boy swallowing a curse.

  
Jughead can feel the difference in the way they're both moving, barreling towards the end, and tries to diffuse the electricity sparking through his nerves, the near-constant buzz through his veins, the pleasurable pressure at the base of his spine. _“Jesus,_ Arch, _please.”_ He’s not sure what he’s begging for, colours at the edge of his vision like watercolour spots bleeding through paper, but Archie's next gasping breath sounds like a sob, lighting another match in his blood. He puts all of his scattered focus into one last effort before Archie can try to rearrange his thoughts like blown-away leaves, and drags his teeth along the underside of the boy's jaw, under his chin and back to the space below his ear, catching the skin in a scrape that has Archie shaking in front of him. Jughead moves his other hand under his shirt, skittering nails over the dips in his back, and twists his wrist again on the next upstroke. _“Please,”_ he keens, and feels Archie tip over the edge as the hand on his own length spasms once with another broken groan of his name.

  
Jughead follows seconds after, colours finally spreading over his eyelids in sweeping motions like the tides, and he hears himself say Archie's name on a breathy moan, heart stuttering a flicker beat against his chest. He feels Archie crash beside him after a few more seconds, and they lie together in recuperative bliss for several moments. Jughead finally stretches, grinning at the ceiling, and turns his head to watch Archie roll his eyes.

  
“I win.” He preens, and the redhead shakes his head.

  
“By, like, 3 seconds.”

  
“A win is a win, no matter how small.” Archie snorts, turns his head to run his gaze over Jughead’s look of victory, slides eyes down the side of his neck and raises his eyebrows. Jughead notes the flush that slides back over the other boy's cheeks, muddled behind his freckles, with curiosity. “What?”

  
“Uh, nothing. Maybe just…button up your flannel all the way for school tomorrow? Or find a turtleneck.” A grin beams across his face, and he shrugs with feigned indifference. “Or don’t, your call.” Jughead catches the note of pride in the words, and narrows his eyes at him.

  
“God _damnit_ , Arch,” he mutters, but the answering laugh is too infectious, pulling up his lips with it as he rubs at his eyes with one hand. When he looks back over at him, Archie’s smile is still soft and sated, and he pulls him into a kiss so that he can feel that light against his lips.

  
It’s several minutes later, as Jughead’s cleaning himself off in the bathroom, that he looks at the mirror above the sink and sees the wash of colour across his neck and around the front of his throat. He can spot teeth marks amidst the blots of purple and red, each love bite a temporary tattoo, Archie's attention staining his skin with glorious results. He feels a pull low in his gut, a thrill through his nervous system, a thrum behind his belly button and running up his spine, memories of moments before warming his blood like embers of an ever-burning flame, and blinks at his reflection to try and slow his suddenly charged heartbeat.

  
“ _You’re a sore loser, Archie Andrews_!” he calls through the open door, and grins easily when he hears a laugh echo down the hallway.

 

xxx

 

Realistically, Jughead probably should have guessed that Archie wouldn’t let it go so easily.

  
He's known the other boy his whole life, knows the way he reacts. Once, when they were nine, Jughead shook Archie's hand with a shock buzzer, some goofy little novelty he got from the school fair. A month later to the day, Archie dropped three water balloons on his head from the tree house above, shrieking with childish laughter about how Jughead “forgot about his revenge”.

  
This time, it takes a little over a week for the redhead's payback, and Jughead’s already successfully forgotten about any possibility of ‘revenge’. They’re on Archie's bed again after school, soft afternoon light casting the room in hues of yellow and orange, Jughead working on his computer while Archie's abandoned any notion of school work several minutes ago in favour of lying back and relaxing. In truth, Jughead assumes he’s napping, which is what makes him so unprepared when the other boy speaks.

  
"Do you ever write about me?" Archie asks suddenly, voice to the ceiling. Jughead blinks away from his screen before fully hearing the question and freezes mid-turn, eyes stuck on the wall inches from Archie's head. Archie laughs, sits up to watch the flush creep up the edge of Jughead's shirt as the other boy refuses to meet his eyes. Jughead swallows, feels the dull thud of his heart telling him to flee, hears the scramble of thoughts in his head telling him to _stay,_ don’t be _embarrassed,_ this is your _boyfriend._

  
“No,” Jughead tries lamely, mind whirring through escape options as Archie grins, snickering.

  
"Tell me?" He surges forward to chase the blood rush with his tongue, and Jughead arches into it on instinct like a cat chasing a sunbeam, making his answer incredibly ironic. He tries to protest, opens his mouth to lie again, but Archie murmurs a word into his skin, burrows it into his heart to live with the fluttering beat, and Jughead can’t resist. “Please?”

  
"You, uh..." He starts, and breathes out a curse as Archie nips under his jaw. The other boy hums against his skin and Jughead swallows thickly, vibrations through his system like waves.

  
"I'm listening." Archie smiles against his neck. Most of the stations in Jughead’s head are empty, abandoned, and he decides on the truth with no other option.

  
"Fuck. 'When you talk, it sounds like the sun.'" He recites quickly, flooding the words out before thinking better of it. Archie's laugh resounds through the room, bright and joyous and free, and he pulls back to look Jughead in the eye.

  
_"What?_ That doesn't even make any sense."

  
"Fuck you, it's poetic." Jughead grumbles, fixing the other boy with a look, but Archie's smiling still, that crooked one that flips Jughead’s stomach.

  
He leans in again to trail soft lips along his throat, tuck his nose behind his ear as he speaks. “Any more poetry for me, then?”

  
“You gonna make fun of me again?” Jughead mutters, hears the self-consciousness in his words but can’t turn it off, feels the heat along his cheeks for more than one reason now.

  
Archie pulls back again, makes sure to meet Jughead’s eyes before replying. For all the teasing, Jughead can see the sincerity behind his corneas, hear the sharp chord of truth in the words Archie speaks. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was making fun of you. I love your writing.”

  
It takes a few seconds for Jughead to smile, a quick one, but Archie's next kiss is softer, gentler, and Jughead tries to think of anything else he can share, anything that wouldn’t light him on fire to say out loud. He gets so lost in his thoughts, sorting through snippets and bits he's written about the redhead over the years, that he almost misses the quick zip of challenge bolt across Archie's eyes, the thrill of the game Jughead started.

  
Almost.

  
But he sees, and he understands suddenly what this is, the start of his comeuppance, where Archie would make him flustered and a mess. The same as he does every time they’re together, but with more of a plan behind it.

  
Jughead’s next smile is different, more solid, and he chuckles with his acceptance of the rematch.

  
“You do, but,” Jughead starts, and he lowers his voice just a bit, closes his laptop with one hand and carefully places it on the floor. “I think you like it more when I _say_ things to you.” He leans in towards Archie with a hand out to prod at his chest, to nudge him onto his back, and he props himself up above him to watch the swallow slide down his throat. “I think you like listening to me say _anything._ I think you might just like hearing me _talk,_ Archie Andrews.”

  
It’s Archie's eyes that give him away, darkening just so and lowering to watch Jughead’s mouth as he speaks. “As much as you like talking?” The voice is low, matching Jughead's, the bare minimum of any calm before a storm. Jughead leans in slow, angling his head, sees the anticipation in the way the other boy tilts his chin up, but stops an inch before Archie's lips with a sprawling smile.

  
“I have a feeling you didn’t think this one through, Arch. It doesn’t seem to be going as planned.”

  
Another flash through those eyes and Archie's leaning up, pressing lips to his and curling a hand around the back of his neck, warmth leaking through Jughead’s body like water.

  
The closing of the front door downstairs startles them both, breaking apart at the noise with sharp intakes of breath. Jughead laughs when the second passes, leaning away from Archie and sitting at the other end of the bed.

  
“Your dad's home. Better luck next time.” He teases, reaching down to pick his laptop back up and watching Archie sit up and blink. There’s a look in Archie's eyes, a hint, a continuous stream, as he scans eyes over the whole of Jughead’s carefully relaxed body that tells him that ‘next time' might be sooner than he thinks. Jughead lets out his breath slow, wills his body to reign back inside itself, to stop expanding his skin and reach for Archie's, and raises an eyebrow at the other boy.

  
Archie's smile is patient, indulgent, but his eyes are still a shade too dark to be normal. “May the best man win.”

  
“He already did.” Jughead reminds him, flipping open his laptop and busying himself with the screen to pull his eyes away from Archie, from losing this game of wills. He’s stronger than this, he thinks, and he can beat Archie at whatever game they play next. He’s sure of it.

  
As Archie laughs, though, something low and decadent, Jughead feels his belief crack and wane.

  
The rest of the evening feels pressurized, somehow. They head downstairs and help with dinner, Archie asks Fred about his day, listens attentively, makes all the appropriate remarks. Jughead watches with an air of acute readiness, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, barely sure anymore that Archie won’t try anything in front of his own dad.

  
But each time they pass by each other’s space, Archie glances at him with eyes too dark, too hooded and loaded for public display. It sets Jughead off-kilter, makes his next move a beat too late, throws a stutter into his step each time. Fred's had to carefully re-orient him with a hand on his shoulder three times before they even sit down to eat, and Jughead’s wearing a permanent scrunch in between his eyebrows as he tries to settle his body, balance the roiling waves in his blood with calming stones.

  
Jughead takes to not looking at Archie anymore, instead throwing himself into a discussion with Fred about laptops, trying to help him decide which one would be the best purchase, which one he could bring to sites and use on the job. He advocates for a touch screen model with a high end processor to properly load blueprints and sketch mock-ups, to run drafting programs and AutoCAD whenever he needs, and Fred gets up from eating with a smile and sincere thanks, promising Jughead he'll look for the specs he listed.

  
Fred's back is to them when he risks a glance at Archie again, and regrets it immediately. The redhead is watching him, leaned back in his seat, and runs his thumb over his bottom lip in a slow drag, catching it on the skin and tugging just so. Jughead feels it as though Archie's run that thumb over _his_ skin, his _stomach,_ just below his navel, smearing oil across his skin and lighting it on fire with the touch of his lips. He parts his lips reflexively, lets out a quick and surprised exhale, and blinks away from him to look over at Fred obliviously placing his dishes in the dishwasher. He looks back at the clink of silverware and catches Archie’s grin as the other boy stands, puts his dishes away next, and _winks_ at him behind his father's back. Jughead's scowl is almost a tradition for how often he’s used it at their table, but never for this reason.

  
“Wanna watch the game, Dad?” Archie’s tone is light, regular. It makes Jughead blink and briefly entertain the idea that he’s imagined all their charged electricity this evening, every heated look that made Jughead feel naked and wanting, _alive-_

  
“Yeah, I’ll go put the tv on. Grab me a beer when you come out, will you?” Fred exits the kitchen with another pat on Jughead’s shoulder, a jarring pull back into reality that leaves him mildly light-headed. As soon as Fred turns the corner into the living room, Archie’s looking at him again, hands tucked in the front of his pockets and stance relaxed. Jughead almost believes the façade until he meets his eyes, feels the floor of his stomach start to give out again.

  
Archie looks _hungry._

  
“Do you want to watch the game with us?” Low, low voice, that same thrum in the chords from their last round of whatever game they’re playing. Jughead imagines he can feel air against his legs, standing on the edge of a cliff with Archie while the other boy asks if he wants to jump with him. When he blinks again, the sensation is gone, and Archie's smiling at him crookedly.

  
“Do _you_ want me to watch the game with you?” Jughead hisses. He glances away from him to the doorway to check for Fred, hears the tv come on with a click and a hum of voices. “Actually, don’t answer that. Why have you been eye-fucking me all evening in front of your _dad?”_

  
Archie raises his eyebrows, lifts a shoulder in a display of neutrality. “I haven’t even touched you, Jug,”

  
“That’s why I said _eye-fucking,_ Arch, you-“ Jughead stops, takes a deep breath. There’s a buzzing in his veins, under his skin, a strange pleasurable frequency borne of anticipation and expectation, some combination he never imagined he’d want to have.

  
“Do you want me to stop?” Archie takes a step to the side, opens up the path to the rest of the house, an exit. Jughead watches him pull back the heatwaves, the signals, the current, until it’s just the two of them standing together, close but not too close. Just two boys in a kitchen, no games, no bets, nothing but them. _Whatever you want,_ Jughead almost hears Archie say, and imagines a summer breeze against the back of his neck. Archie's face is open and clear, waiting for consent, waiting for permission, waiting for Jughead.

  
Jughead can still hear the song in his blood, called to life by the boy in front of him, and finds that he wants to chase it. He wants to hear how it ends, how long he can make it last, if Archie’s veins are humming the same tune.

  
“No,” he says, just loud enough for Archie to hear it, and quirks his mouth up just a bit. Archie smiles in return, a flash in his eyes that Jughead thinks might be mirrored in his own, and turns to grab a beer and a bottle of pop from the fridge.

  
When he turns back, it’s leaking out of his eyes again, pupils dilated and gaze heavy as he looks at Jughead, opens the pop, takes a sip, and runs a tongue out to pull a bead of liquid off his lip. Jughead feels every movement along his own skin, and wonders briefly when they synchronized their bodies, what ritual they preformed to make him feel like this.

  
He swallows, and sees Archie follow the bump in his throat, sees him run eyes along the sides of his neck, the edge of his collarbone, before meeting his eyes again. Jughead fights the instinct to swear.  
“You can bring your laptop into the living room and get some work done while we watch the game, if you’d like.” There’s an undercurrent of humour to Archie's low words, a twitch of his eyebrow at the notion that Jughead could possibly focus on work. Jughead tries to unfold his tongue from behind his teeth and nods at Archie as the other boy leaves with a smile.

  
In truth, Jughead’s pretty sure he only makes it through the game by sheer force of will. He throws himself into the armchair with his laptop on his thighs, far enough away – he hopes – from Archie’s gravitational pull, and doesn't move for the next 3 hours. He doesn’t rearrange himself, he doesn't get up for a drink, he hunkers down and tries to build a barricade.

  
He manages to make it through every electric rove of eyes over his body. He makes it through the deliberately slow sips Archie takes of his drink – _one_ drink that he nurses for _three hours_ – and the way his tongue darts out to slide along his lips. He makes it through Archie's fingers tugging at those lips during tense moments of the game. He ignores all the little smiles he sees when Archie knows he’s looking at him. He makes his mind stop focusing on the way Archie’s fingers pick at the label of his pop, pulling it off from the bottle in a way that’s completely _normal,_ Jughead, why are you turning this into something else.

  
Fred gets up at one point to put his empty bottle away, and Jughead watches him go with a fluttering heartbeat. He looks over at Archie to find him slouched in the corner of the couch, one arm slung over the back, eyes on the tv. Jughead's about to look away when Archie moves his knees open an inch more, slides the hand on his thigh in just a bit, swings his gaze over to him.

  
The next solid pounding of Jughead’s heart echoes through his veins, and he feels his body stir to life with a twitch.

  
Fred comes back in as the tv cheers, and Jughead bites back a curse, hoping the light from his screen doesn’t illuminate the rising colour on his cheeks, the flush on his skin that he knows must be spreading like wildfire.

  
The game ends and Jughead has no idea who won, who was even _playing,_ if any of his work makes sense or if it’s just another jumbled mess of distracted words. They trek upstairs, Jughead going last after insisting that Archie walk in front of him with hissed words through his teeth, and say goodnight to Fred on the landing. Jughead tries to manage a smile, any semblance of normalcy, but Fred scrutinizes him from his bedroom door.

  
“You alright, Jug? You look a little queasy.”

  
Archie turns his head to look at him, given permission to take in his state, and Jughead pointedly ignores him, swallows every urge to meet his eyes. “Yeah, I think I’m just overheating from the computer being on my lap so long,” he tries, covers the roughness in his voice by rubbing a hand over his face.

  
Fred nods after a moment, satisfied. “Alright. Get some sleep, boys.” He says as he enters his room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  
Jughead finally looks over at Archie to find the redhead's cheeks twitching, eyes sparkling and alive, electric current over his body like a second skin. Jughead mouths the words ‘fuck you' at him, and Archie’s grin precedes him into his room. Jughead shuts the door behind him, darts quick eyes around the space as the air around him gets heavy. He’s not sure of Archie’s end game, knows only that the connective string between them has gotten tighter and tighter over the evening, and now here they stand in his room, with his father getting ready for bed two doors down.

  
Archie rotates in place to stare at him, ravenous look back in his eyes, and Jughead carefully lets out a shaky exhale. “We could always go to bed early, if you want,” Archie’s voice is a low rumble, warm stones rolling down Jughead’s spinal cord.

  
Jughead’s not sure what his response is supposed to be, what series of moves comes next. He’s pretty sure his stomach is still down somewhere in the kitchen, but his feet won’t move to go look. “Sure,” he says automatically, after his brain notices he hasn’t responded in an appropriate amount of time.

  
They get ready for bed in a hum of electricity, and Jughead can almost hear Archie's energy around him like the Doppler effect, buzzing close and then away, never touching. Like a radio frequency he can never quite land directly on, as the other boy never touches him. Archie reaches past him at one point to plug his phone into the cord on the nightstand and Jughead holds his breath, but the arm retreats as the redhead smiles.

  
It takes a little under ten minutes for the routine, for them to brush their teeth and strip down to boxers and a faded t-shirt – only Jughead wears a tee, as Archie overheats regardless –, beanie resting on the nightstand as always, and Jughead takes a moment of pause in the bathroom to look at his reflection, see the flush in the apples of his cheeks, the restrained wildness in his eyes. He splashes cool water over his face and looks again, but leaves the room with a curse when the image of Archie chasing the water droplets off his chin with his tongue flashes across his vision.

  
He closes Archie’s door behind him again and flips off the light, sliding into bed with his face to the ceiling. Archie curls onto his side to face him, an inch away from his space, heat rolling off him in waves. Jughead finally rolls over to look at him with a sigh, finds the other boy's eyes fathomless in the dark, smile crooked and filled with the same black silk.

  
“Goodnight, Jug,” Archie murmurs, and leans in for a kiss, quick and fleeting. He pulls back and settles himself, eyes closed, but Jughead makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

  
“That’s it, then? _Really?”_

  
“What’s it?” Archie’s eyes are open again, humour alight on his face. Jughead narrows his eyes at him, pushed into frustrated confusion.

  
“What the fuck was even the _point-“_

  
“I didn’t touch you, Jug, like I said. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about.”

  
“Yeah _thanks,_ I know you didn’t touch me, dick-“

  
“I could start, though.” It's a rumble, a speculative hum, and Jughead doesn’t have time to take a breath before Archie's kissing him, mouth hot against his. He can feel the rushed intake through his nose, feel it rattle around in his lungs before he’s pressing back, pushing his lips apart to have Archie lick into his mouth as the other boy runs a hand up under his shirt and along his ribs, tapping them like piano keys. He can feel the callouses rub against his skin as Archie firms his hand, tugs him closer and curls their bodies together, and Jughead sighs against his lips with an unsteady breath.

  
Dimly, Jughead has the notion that there’s something he’s forgetting, some piece of important information, but his body's too busy being lit up from within like highway lights, exit signs for _finally_ and _yes._ He rolls his body in a wave to connect their hips with a bubbled gasp, hand out and grasping Archie’s arm as the redhead slides his lips along his jaw, nudging Jughead’s head back with the force of it and licking along the skin on the side of his neck.

  
Jughead lets himself _feel,_ held in place by the boy in front of him, until the sound of the sink turning on in the bathroom snaps his brain into place like an elastic. He freezes, hand gripping Archie’s arm in a swift vice, but he can feel the grin against his throat. Archie's lips move slower, teeth clenching in a rhythmic pulse, but don’t stop even as the sink turns off and Jughead hears Fred's door close again, breath coming out in a puff.

  
“Arch?” His name comes out like gravel, thick in the back of his throat.

  
“Hm?” The hum vibrates through Jughead’s veins from his pulse point.

  
Jughead swallows before continuing, shivers as Archie chases the movement with his tongue. “You remember why we don’t _normally…fool around_ late at night?”

  
Another grin against his skin, shaking as Archie laughs quietly. “In case my dad hears us?”

  
“Right.”

  
“So?”

  
Jughead blinks in the dark, fingers flexing on Archie’s arm. _“So?_ The fuck do you mean _‘so’?”_ He hisses and the laughter continues as Archie rolls his hips into Jughead’s with a sharp nip to the juncture of his shoulder. He’s being pushed onto his back before his mind turns back on, and looks up at the other boy propped above him with one hand, the other still under his shirt, burning through his ribs.

  
“I mean ‘so what?’” Archie’s voice is low, more of a whispered baritone than anything else, and Jughead feels a quiver in his stomach, hummingbirds in his vertebrae. “It doesn’t have to stop us if you don’t want it to.”

  
Jughead's mouth is open with a reply he doesn’t have, a fog intruding his body and enveloping any part of him that tries to think. When he closes it Archie kisses him again, sliding his tongue along the seam to open it back up anyway, hand rucking up Jughead’s shirt. He’s trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, along his chest and across his sternum, breaking off path once to place one on the space above his heart. Jughead smoothes his hands over Archie’s shoulders, clenching, moves one into the redhead's hair as he tries to pull back any cohesive thought into his brain.

  
"You're just going to have to be really," A kiss beside his navel as Archie travels south. “really," A sharp nip to the sensitive skin at the juncture of his hip through his boxers and Jughead gasps, a quick burst of light behind his eyes, hips jerking up once. "quiet." Archie whispers the word against the fabric, pressing his smile into Jughead's bones. "Do you think you can do that?" He rests his chin on the jut of Jughead’s hip, grin flashing in the dark as he looks over at the dark-haired boy. Jughead attempts to regulate his heartbeat and fails when Archie lets out a breath along the edge of his cock through his boxers, Jughead’s hips twitching up with a shuttered breath.

  
He sees the question in the glow of Archie’s eyes, the same from the kitchen, and the challenge there, too. He flexes the hand in the other boy's hair once, a drag of his finger pads along the scalp, and watches Archie lean into the press. “Game on,” he whispers, eyes narrowed as Archie flashes him another grin. His boxers are off in a beat, Archie settling between his thighs as Jughead works at a proper breathing pattern, trying not to lose right off the bat. Archie raises an eyebrow at him, and Jughead nods once before his mouth closes over the head and sucks, cheeks hollowed. Jughead’s vision whites out, electric shock through his body and grounding out at the base of his spine, and he whimpers from the bottom of his throat.

  
“Be good,” Archie reminds him, no shortage of mirth in his tone, and Jughead bares his teeth for a reply when Archie licks at the sensitive skin just below the head of his cock. He swallows his reply, sound, everything, neck tensed and arched back, teeth clenching towards the ceiling. He can feel the curses rattle around his skull, begging to be let out, and he fists his hand in the strands of Archie’s hair with the tides rolling through him.

  
There’s a firm thumb pressed at the juncture of his hip and Jughead’s mouth goes slack, positive there’ll be a bruise there in the morning as he flexes his hips up to press it further, delighting in the delicious pressure. Archie slides his length into his mouth, tongue flat on the underside along the vein, and Jughead can feel himself shaking, fingers of his other hand tightly gripping the sheets. The first swallow around him has his body bent at his shoulder blades, that hand flying up to press against his own mouth, holding back the flames, a fire-breather in reverse.

  
Archie's pleased hum vibrates along his cock, and Jughead can’t help the groan that emanates from his teeth, muffled and barely audible behind the skin of his palm. Archie pulls off him and bites at his other hip, a sister bruise to his thumb, a reminder and a warning. Jughead finds himself nodding almost manically, forcing his fingers to straighten along Archie’s skull, twitching with his rapid breaths. He hears the chuckle through cotton-stuffed ears, feels the heat return down and up, a rhythm for Jughead’s wavelength. His hips cant up with the beat, careful not to thrust too hard, but Archie's hand curls around his hip to move with him, still with that rough grounding pressure at his thumb.

  
Jughead slides the hand over his mouth into his own hair and wonders if he looks possessed from an outside perspective, lips parted and silently mouthing litanies at the ceiling. He scrapes nails over Archie’s scalp and is rewarded with another hum at the base of his cock. Jughead bites his lip this time, sure he’s drawn blood, fire turning all his blood to steam and melting his bones.

  
He wants to say Archie’s name, some need his body is trying to make him take care of, but when he opens his mouth it's just panting, and he places his fist back over his mouth to cover it. Archie's tongue swirls around him at the tip, flicking at the slit with its point, and Jughead’s toes curl with the pulses, head pushed back against the pillows and body quaking. There’s the hint of Archie’s teeth next, just the dare of it, just the edge, and Jughead’s hips snap up once, a swift shallow thrust for more, his own teeth biting into the skin of his knuckle as Archie obliges.

  
He feels the sounds he wants to make in his bone marrow, pleas and moans and little whining curses, feels them slip down his spine and coil at the base of his tailbone, close, so close. Archie hollows out his cheeks again, tongue lapping, and Jughead clenches the hand in his hair, fingers dragging across his scalp so that he can feel the shudder it causes. He feels another slide of honey down his back and manages to tap his fingers against Archie's head, tries to relax them in case he moves, but Archie slides back down his length and flashes teeth again, swallowing once, and Jughead bows his body like a harp string as he comes, palm flat over his mouth and eyes scrunched tight.

  
There’s a roaring in his ears that's starting to dull out as Archie crawls back up his body with soft little kisses along his stomach, up his chest, pausing as Jughead slides his hand up over his eyes and into his hair so he can slide lips along his, shaky sighs as Jughead returns into his own body. Archie lays back down beside him, and Jughead shakes his head.

  
"Don't," Jughead warns, hissing whisper aimed at Archie's head. "Don't say it."

  
"Say what?" Archie's words are so quiet, a gloat, grin singing through both hushed words, and Jughead almost reaches out to hit him, thinks better of it in favour of running the hand through his own damp hair.

  
"How the _fuck_ would we even quantify who won this? What was the competition this time?" It's a breathless whisper to the ceiling, palm over his forehead to see if the fever in his system is still there or if Archie pulled it out of him. The other boy laughs silently beside him, solid frame shaking the bed as he quakes with it.

  
"Oh, I won this one."

  
"You can't just _decide_ that, there were no rules. This was just payback for losing." Jughead rolls his eyes and turns his head to look at him, to take in the slants of him he can see in the dim light from the window. Tousled hair, stuck up and mussed from Jughead's spastic clenching. Lips shiny and pink, too sinful to look at for long, though Jughead wants to get pulled into their depths, can still feel an echoing pull in his gut, responding even now. Broad shoulders and lean, firm chest, skin glowing in a thin sheen of sweat. The way he holds himself on the bed, legs curled up slightly to frame the bunch in his boxers, the tent in the front.

  
Jughead quirks a smile, slides his eyes up in another slow take to meet Archie's, turns on his side to lean into his space. "Are you sure this was _your_ 'revenge'?" He murmurs against his lips, lets him feel the formulation of the words, slow and soft. "Seems more mean to you, with me having to be so silent and all." He kisses him in the dark, running the tip of his tongue over the roof of Archie's mouth. When he pulls away, a groan begins just behind Archie's adam's apple, one that Jughead has to sear their lips together to swallow. _"Hush."_ He reminds him, mouthing the word with no sound.

  
Archie's nod is jerky, quick. "I'm...I'm okay, I don't need-" A deep breath, shaky on the exhale, and Jughead puts a bit more breathing room between the two of them, understanding.

  
"You sure?"

  
"Yeah, I-" he swallows thickly, a movement Jughead watches with heavy eyes. "I know I won't be able to be quiet."

  
A grin threatens to split Jughead's face as he tries to contain his laughter inside his chest. "So I win, then."

  
Archie flashes him those dark, dark eyes, runs them over his face in a way that makes Jughead's blood heat. "No, I still definitely win." He can feel the slide in his spine, the reaction that wants to curl him closer, press into that darkness again, but he resists. "Plus, I mean," Archie smiles, ducks his face closer to Jughead's. "My dad's _just next door,_ Jug."

  
This time Jughead does hit him, a swat across his shoulder with narrowed eyes. Archie catches that hand and bites his lip against the laughter, pressing a soft kiss against Jughead's mouth. "I hate you," Jughead murmurs, no heat behind the words as he curls their fingers together.

  
"No, you don't," Archie breathes back, nestling his head close to Jughead's.

  
"No, I don't," he agrees, with a sigh and a prolonged blink. Archie runs a thumb over his knuckles, a familiar pattern, and Jughead leans forward for one last quick kiss against the corner of his lips.

  
"Go to sleep," Archie smiles. Jughead nods and manages to stay awake for a few more minutes, enough to watch Archie settle into himself and carefully relax.

  
Jughead returns the favour in the morning, during the period of time after Fred leaves for work and before they have to leave to be on time for class, pushing Archie against the wall and letting him be as loud as he wants. He slides to his knees in front of him and presses matching bruises into the redhead’s hipbones as hands slide into his hair, murmured utterances of his name falling from lips above him.

 

xxx

 

In hindsight, Jughead thinks, his plan to rile Archie up at school might not be considered one of his best, as the walk home can be paralleled to walking a tightrope next to a loosely chained wild animal. It's a miscalculation on his part, really, no one to blame but himself.

  
It seemed like such a good idea at the time, the return swing in their competition two weeks after Archie's ploy. Fred had told them the night before that he’d be home late, trying to meet a deadline on his latest project, which meant they’d have the house to themselves after class since Archie didn’t have practice. It was too fortuitous an opportunity to pass up. Jughead had it (mostly) planned out: after seeing how Archie got after he told him he loved him, Jughead would see how well Archie would handle him telling him _all day._

  
Part of Jughead thinks it would be fun, an experiment to watch the other boy get flustered in public with nothing he can really do about it. If Archie thinks it was fun to do the same to him in front of Fred, Jughead wants to see how _he_ likes it.

  
Another part of Jughead is focused on the results, on the fact that he planned this on a day they’d be alone. The second part of him is louder, but Jughead tries not to focus on it too much while he works.

  
It starts easily, with Jughead saying the words at Archie’s locker, whispered low with a smile before leaving for first. Archie says it back, surprised grin pulling up one corner of his mouth. It’s the second time Jughead does it that he can tell Archie catches on, just like Jughead knew he would, twenty minutes into first period when Archie's phone buzzes in his pocket and he sneaks it out to read the text.

  
Jug: _I love you_.

  
Archie turns in his seat to look at him, confusion pulling his eyebrows down, but Jughead keeps his eyes on the board, smiling. He waits a beat before turning, puts everything he can into his eyes, the fire and water, the darkness and light, everything he sees in Archie when he looks at him. He feels bold again, too stuck on the heat in Archie’s eyes during their last game, the heady way he looked at him when Jughead confessed the first time, the power cable in his touch.

  
Jughead wants to call the thunder, see how well it responds.

  
Archie blinks, a spot of colour on his cheeks, and turns back to the front. When he tilts his head to look at him again, Jughead’s smile is sprawling across his face, body relaxed in the chair. Jughead can see the exact moment it hits him, the slight straightening of his spine, the flame lit behind his eyes. Archie looks away and Jughead fights his laughter, sneaks a glance down at his lap when his phone buzzes.

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _You’re gonna do this all day, aren’t you?_

  
Jughead’s response is to grin at the blackboard, a show of teeth that he knows Archie’s watching when his phone goes off again.

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _You’re the worst_

  
Jug: _I've heard that before. Also, I love you._

  
The muffled curse from the chair beside Jughead has him disguising a laugh with a cough into his fist.

  
He leaves Archie like that for the rest of the period, striking again when they split up for their next class. Jughead puts a hand out to stop him in the emptying hall, waits for privacy before grabbing a fistful of the other boy’s shirt, tugs him close to put lips beside his ear.

  
“I love you,” he breathes, smiling at the shiver that runs down Archie's frame. When he pulls back he catches the melted brown of the redhead's eyes, the swallow in his throat, the parting of his lips. “See you for lunch.” And he’s off, turning and walking away, leaving Archie behind him like a burning ember.

  
He sits beside Betty in their English Literature class, dropping down his bag and lazing in the seat. With Archie and Veronica in other classes, their bubble of activity shrinks to the two of them. The girls and Kevin are the only ones who know about his and Archie’s relationship, with Jughead preferring to fly under the radar as much as possible and Archie not really caring either way, and while Jughead likes taking the course with Betty, she seems to have eagle eyes for the days he wears higher-necked shirts.

  
Then again, he always notices when she does, too.

  
Today she seems to zero in on his phone when he texts Archie with one hand in his lap, and he glances over at her to find one delicately crafted eyebrow raised at him. He smiles in answer and looks back down when the return text comes in.

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _Is this really the best use of your time???_

  
Jug: _I’d like to think so. Also it’s barely past 10:30am, Arch, how can you be losing this badly already?_

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _Fuck you I’m not losing_

  
Jug: _Really? Because you just swore at me for telling you I love you._

  
No reply comes back, radio silence as Jughead imagines Archie seething at his desk with a smile.

  
“Archie?” Betty whispers at him, a knowing gleam in her eye.

  
“Yeah,” Jughead tries to think of a way to explain what he’s doing, to describe this game they’re playing, and finally settles on a half truth. “I’m teasing him about something and he’s calling me names.”

  
“Sounds like you deserve it, Jug.” She murmurs, smiling. Jughead shrugs, lips twitching up in the corner. “Are you two sitting with us for lunch?”

  
“’Course, Bets.” He whispers, and she gives him another smile before turning back to the teacher. The class passes without further incident until they’re packing to leave, and Jughead pens another text to Archie.

  
Jug: _I love you. We’re with the girls and Kevin in the cafeteria for lunch. Think you can handle yourself?_

  
There’s no reply, which Jughead anticipated, and he waits for Betty to zip up her knapsack before they exit the classroom. They meet up with the others in front of Archie’s locker, the girls with a kiss on the cheek and Kevin with a smile. Archie’s turned away from them, tucking his backpack into his locker and grabbing his lunch, and when he closes it and turns, Jughead has to glance at him twice to make sure of what he’s seeing.

  
There’s no heat in Archie's gaze, there’s a whole _fire,_ or at least the beginnings of it. Smoldering branches and kindling, promises of a roaring blaze of colour and life. Behind that is a wildness that’s just kept in check, like a forest that’s too dark to see too far into as you drive by. The brown colour of his irises are dark, so dark, and Jughead briefly wonders if Archie’s gotten many questions or looks because of it. The gaze he gives Jughead is strong, pinning him with a solid look, and Jughead feels his heart pound a return beat through his chest, warning the castle of returning troops.

  
As the group of them head off to the lunchroom, Jughead lags behind with Archie, glancing over at the other boy with a smile. “My experiment seems to be going better than expected,” he murmurs, voice low. A slither runs down his spine as Archie’s reply comes out in a gruff rumble.

  
“You seem pleased,” There’s something about the way he says the word that makes Jughead blink, turn eyes again to the redhead to see him quirk a small smile.

  
“Sure.” Jughead turns as they near the doors, walks through them backwards as he meets Archie's stare. “I’m looking forward to the results.” He watches the swallow in Archie’s throat just as he knows Archie's watching his, both of them lost for a moment in the knowledge that this will end similarly to the other two games, with broken gasps and arched backs, marks on skin and names whispered into shared air.

  
Lunch is harder to tease through, with Jughead having to settle for more inconspicuous texting in his lap under the table, glancing up at Archie to see the haze run through his eyes, and then returning to whatever conversation is going on with the others. He looks up to find Veronica scrutinizing him, eyes flicking between him and Archie beside him, and Jughead raises an eyebrow.

  
“Sorry, was our conversation interrupting you two? Care to share with the class?” she clasps her hands on the table, fixes Jughead with a pointed stare as he blinks slowly at her, unfazed.

  
“I’m good, thanks,” he replies, taking another sip of his drink. There’s another beat as Veronica continues to dissect him, looking oddly like Betty as she studies, and Jughead rolls his eyes.

  
“Sorry, Ronnie. We’ll try to be more present.” Archie says, offering her a smile, and Jughead watches him blink the far-away hue from his eyes. Veronica swings her gaze to the redhead for a moment before a grin splits her face and she laughs.

  
“What, V?” Betty's voice is curious, confused.

  
“They were _sexting.”_ Veronica chirps, pleased beyond all reason and turning to flash her teeth at her girlfriend and Kevin before aiming it at the other two again. “Look at them. Jug's moving his thumbs across his phone like he’s masturbating under the table, and a second later Archie's phone goes off and he blushes like a Japanese stereotype.” She laughs again, claps her hands together, and Jughead frowns at Betty and Kevin, staring at him with new interest.

  
“Sorry to disappoint, Lodge, but you’re incorrect.” Jughead says, voice calm and even to hinder any idea that he’s lying. He’s _not,_ he knows, not _really,_ but it’s akin to a moral grey area.

  
“Oh, _please,_ like we don’t know you two are sexually active. You show up periodically looking like you got mauled around the neck by a wild animal, Jones.”

  
Jughead can’t help the quick flush of blood in his cheeks, just like he knows Archie can’t help the wolfish grin that ducks his head. Betty's hiding her smile behind her sandwich while Kevin pops chips into his mouth like his favourite tv show is on. “You mean the same way Betty comes to school with your fang marks in her throat?” Jughead fires back, to Betty's blush and Kevin's delighted laughter.

  
“I love clapback season,” he says in between chips. Veronica snaps her jaw closed at Jughead, smiling, and winks at the boy beside him.

  
“I'll show you mine if Archie shows me his. I bet you give as good as you get.”

  
“Again, V, I’m not telling-“

  
“He does.” Archie interrupts, spinning a bottle cap around the table with his finger. He looks up at Veronica, still grinning, and slides his gaze over to Jughead to show off the wildness in his eyes like fog. “Most are just under clothes. I’m sure you understand, Ronnie.”

  
“You’re not helping, Arch.” Jughead mutters.

  
Veronica throws her head back with her laughter, and Jughead forces his eyes away from Archie’s, wills his blood to stay in the top half of his body, surrounding his erratic heart. “I _love_ it! The MCR reject turned manic loverboy,” she points at Jughead first, aims her manicured nail at Archie next. “and America's sweetheart turned hellacious wildcat.”

  
“Tasmanian devil.” Jughead corrects, taking another sip to disguise the colour along his cheekbones. Veronica's grin is that of a champion; Archie's is smug.

  
“Fan _tastic_. You know well the importance of foreplay, children.” Veronica hums. Jughead rolls his eyes again, relaxing when the conversation turns to other topics. His phone buzzes in his lap and he glances down to read it.

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _You say that like it’s a bad thing_

  
Jug: _Absolutely not. Maybe you’re misremembering how well your tactics work._

  
Archibald Andrews the First: _I’m actually having no trouble remembering, thanks_

  
Jug: _Good. I love you._

  
Jughead glances over at the sound of Archie taking a deep breath, listens to how slow it is to keep all the fire at bay, and smirks when the other boy looks at him. The flames there keep him warm for the rest of lunch and back into the hall as he lounges beside Archie’s locker, waiting for the redhead to gather his books for the next class. Their immediate area clears when the bell goes off, the other three having promised to save them seats in their next class, a shared one, and Jughead eyes the straggling students at both ends of the corridor.

  
“Are you going to say it again?” Archie's voice is low, volume and tone, an easy sign of his state for the day. Warm tendrils slide down Jughead’s spine, curl around his lower back, and he looks over at the other boy when his locker closes.

  
“Careful, Arch. Your addiction is showing.” Jughead murmurs, soft and slow. Archie sways towards him, puts a hand out on either side of Jughead’s head, a cage. He holds his body back, face away, innocent to any onlookers, but when he pulls away after a moment, Jughead wonders if the low growl he heard was real.

  
“Come on, we don’t want to be late to class.” Archie calls as he walks off, and Jughead blinks for a moment, hoping his next breath properly kick starts his heart.

  
Their last two classes are together, all five of them, and Jughead continues his antics through text only, not putting it past Archie to push him up against the lockers.

  
The thought derails his plans for a moment, distracts him in last period until the end of day bell rings. Archie’s stopped replying several texts ago, but Jughead watches the coil of his body stand up, watches how tight his shoulders are when he packs his bag. Once outside the classroom, the girls ask if anyone wants to grab a burger at Pop's, and Jughead barely opens his mouth to reply before Archie’s speaking up, bowing them out on some made-up excuse of homework and housework and walking Vegas. Jughead chews the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and Kevin does it for him, Betty joining in as Veronica grins.

  
_“Right,_ sure. Have a wonderful night, beast boys.” She trills, sauntering off with one arm looped through Betty's and one through Kevin's. Jughead turns the other direction and walks them out, Archie a tense creature beside him.

  
The walk home is chilly, brisk, and silent, but does nothing to tamper their ardour. Every time Archie’s shoulder bumps against his, Jughead glances over at the dark eyes and wind-blown hair and wonders if his idea is going as well as he thought it would, if it’s affecting only Archie and not himself. The idea of this ending puts gelatin behind his knee caps and lights sparklers in his kidneys, makes him swallow and make sure he’s walking in a straight line. As they near the front door, Jughead can feel his stomach start to drop like the end of a carnival thrill ride.

  
He unlocks the door quickly and they step inside to a mostly empty house as Vegas pads up to greet them. Jughead rubs at one of the dog's ears, crouching down to put lips against the fur. “I’m going to let him out back for a minute,” he says, glancing up at Archie. The redhead nods, runs his gaze down heavy and slow, and turns to the stairs.

  
“See you up in our room,” he murmurs, hiking his bag up his shoulder and taking the steps up. Jughead feels a few butterflies come lose in his system and he leads Vegas to the back door, opens it to let him out, closes it to wait in the warmth until he’s done. He gets himself water from the tap and guzzles it down, tries to settle the anticipation in his gut, the delightful feeling he’s been getting for weeks now. When Vegas paws at the door, Jughead lets him back in and grabs his bag, taking the steps upstairs as calmly as he can manage.

  
He makes it up to Archie’s room and drops his bag just inside the door, sliding eyes over to the redhead standing in the middle of the room, hand in his hair. Archie’s taken his jacket and shoes off, dropped them on his backpack at the foot of the bed, and the look he gives Jughead is _hungry,_ a man starving or drowning or both. Jughead breaks the stare to toe off his shoes and remove his jacket, puts them on his bag in the same way. He takes off his beanie and walks to the nightstand to put it down, the fabric barely leaving his fingertips before Archie’s moving forward, shuffling him back against the wall and covering his jaw with his hands, tilting his head back to kiss him.

  
The sigh it pulls from them both is freeing, like a knot uncurling in their bodies, but Jughead can’t help teasing a little more. “What was that, eleven seconds from me coming through the door? Nice restraint, Arch.” Archie's reply is to fit their hips together, the groan running through the line of his body pressed against Jughead so that he can feel the noise in his skin. Jughead can feel the shake in his muscles, wonders if it’s his or Archie’s or both, and runs his hands along Archie's sides to press against his back through his shirt. Archie glides his tongue along the back of Jughead’s teeth, fingers in his hair, and Jughead tugs at his shirt, a quick request from the base of his brain stem. They pull back to take off shirts, tossing them off to the side, and when Archie swoops back in it’s to put firm hands on the backs of Jughead’s thighs, heft him up so that the dark-haired boy can curl his legs around his waist, scrabble long fingers along his scalp and over his shoulder. “Shit,” Jughead breathes, Archie’s body pushing against him, the wall behind him a solid presence at his back.

  
“Say it again,” Archie trails his mouth down Jughead’s chin, over his cheek and down under his ear.

  
“Say what?” Archie presses their hips together, the fit firm and sure, and drags his teeth sharply across the side of Jughead’s neck to elicit a groan from the back of his throat. _“Fuck,_ Arch,”

  
“Is this what you wanted?” The words are hot, mouthed along the column of his throat, and Jughead bends his legs open more, clenches his thighs to bring Archie in tight, head tilted to the side to stretch out the canvas.

  
He can feel sweat beginning along his back, sticking him to the wall, and sweet, warm honey greasing his joints, blurring away his teasing and leaving him open and wanting, a creature of need. “Yes,” he drags out the ‘s' as Archie sucks a bruise into the juncture of his shoulder, teeth over the tender area to pull a hiccupping gasp from Jughead’s lips. “You?”

  
Archie’s grin travels along his skin and presses up against his lips, tempering the hard kiss before he pulls back to look at him, each boy checking the state of the other. “Yeah.”

  
Jughead’s grin is sly, the quick breaths he’s taking fueling the centre of his brain that remembers the wild look in Archie's eyes, the low, rough rumble of words. “I love you.” He whispers, watching for the flash across Archie's face before the other boy sears their lips back together, teeth nipping at his lips and tongue curling over his.

  
Jughead's off the wall in a beat, lowered to the bed the next, suddenly cooler than before as Archie steps back. There’s a look between them in between laboured breathing, no words needed as they both reach for their own belt. He barely registers the act of taking off the rest of his clothes, only comes back to when Archie's kiss urges him to lie back on the pillows, swing his legs up and feel the hot slide of their skin together with a shuttered breath. Archie's kisses are leaking the wildness, one hand beside Jughead’s head to hold himself up and the other at his hip, pulling them in together in a hot drag that has them gasping into the other's mouth.

  
_“Shit,”_ Archie groans, leans up and away, hand out to fumble with the nightstand drawer, and Jughead takes the opening of his neck, trails paths old and new with lips and teeth as he drags his nails over the dips in Archie's back. The swallows get met with more teeth, the moans met with a firmer press of fingers, and Jughead follows him up when he needs both hands to slick his fingers with the lube. “Jug,” it’s a pant, bottle tossed to the floor and free hand grabbing back at his hip, thumb in the dent and pressing Jughead back against the mattress with a shiver.

  
Jughead lifts his hips, body knowing the motions even through the haze of his mind, and he tangles fingers in Archie’s hair at the first press of finger pads against him, inside him. Archie's hand moves off his hip onto the bed, head surging forward to taste the sweat up his chest. He bites at a nipple, just once, and Jughead jerks, knees open and fingers tugging. _“God,_ fuck,” He thinks Archie’s smiling again, curling his finger in more and more, trailing back up to latch onto his throat. “More,” Jughead groans, not positive he’s said the word out loud until he feels another digit press up beside the first. There’s a shiver in his body, the muscles twitching in a delicious symphony as Archie stretches him on beat with his tongue and teeth, always rhythmic, always sure.

  
The first graze against his prostate has Jughead bowed up from the sheets, fingers twitching against the redhead’s skin and groan low. _“Arch,”_ He flexes his hips, scratches nails down the back of Archie’s head, hears the answering groan pushed into his nervous system from the tongue laving at his neck, soothing the marks with soft movements. There’s another stretch of fingers, Archie switching sides of his throat and preceding the next press against that spot inside him with bracketed teeth on his collarbone. Jughead keens, fingers shaking where they’re pressed to Archie’s back to ground the lightning in his blood. “H- _ahh_ , fucking _Christ,”_ he whimpers, can’t help the reediness of his voice as he shifts, trying to get _more_ or _less_ or _something,_ dizzy and blurred along his edges.

  
“Good?” Archie hums against him, unable to fully mask the groan in his words. Jughead can feel those fingers stretch and curl, reach up again and he cries out, body bending towards it and away, too much, not enough, something _else._

  
_“Jesus-”_

  
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Archie’s smile whispers along his skin, every noise Jughead makes edged out of his neck by Archie’s teeth. Jughead opens his mouth, reply loaded, but snaps his jaw closed and tilts his head back as Archie stretches him again, teases close without touching that spot, and another whimper comes out instead. Jughead thinks he can almost taste colours, everything Archie’s painting on his throat, artist mouth to match his artist hands. “Ready?”

  
_“Yes-“_ It’s almost a snarl, choked off as Archie pulls his fingers out, his face up to look at the mess Jughead knows he must look like. He tugs at his hair to pull him in, kiss bruising and tongues clashing as Archie whines, hand working over himself for the last of the prep work. He lines himself up and presses in agonizingly slow, a feeling like a low electrical current over Jughead's skin, an itch he wants to scratch with more of the boy above him.

  
“God, _Juggie-“_

  
“Arch, _please,_ I am going to _kill_ you if you don’t move faster than this,” Jughead breathes against his lips, words cast out like licks of fire from his flame to Archie’s, a candle at both ends.

  
“Can it wait?”

  
_“Archie-“_

  
_“Because_ I can stop if it can’t.”

  
Jughead bares his teeth at him, digs one heel into the bed for leverage as he flips them over, hands on Archie's chest to brace his movement as he sinks down in a stuttered slide. The groans they both give are matching, low tones of sweet syrup down their spines to where they’re joined. Jughead can feel Archie’s hands on his hip bones, flowers blooming in colours from the firm grip, and he skitters his own fingers down the redhead's sternum. He pushes his knees down, tries to rise back up, but Archie’s strength holds him back down, in place, immobile. Jughead makes a frustrated noise and raises a quick hand to push the hair out of his face, glaring down at the other boy.

  
“Are you _serious?”_ he hisses, and Archie’s responding grin is large, still too bright in his flushed face. Jughead bends at the waist instead, dragging the blunt edge of his teeth across the columns of Archie’s throat, rotating his hips as much as he can move them. He starts a pattern as close to Archie’s as he can from moments before, the other side of the coin, and Archie pants out reverent noises, fingers like hot iron where they’re branding his hips, the tops of his thighs.

  
“Nn- _haahh_ , _Jug-“_ Archie swallows the keen as Jughead rocks forward, bites trailing up to cover his lips, wild and hard and all teeth to taste the sounds. He can feel Archie’s body vibrating, shaking like waves, veins of untapped gold beneath the surface of his skin, but he knows it’s not enough for either of them, not enough to reach that bright edge. Jughead's fogged brain spares a brief thought to wonder if he can go mad like this, the feeling of being so full with no movement, all pressure and quick flashes of light that fizzle out too quickly, before he’s leaning back to run eyes over Archie. His eyes must be dark, the sight of him causing a full body shudder through the redhead, and Jughead feels the feedback shoot through his bones.

  
_“Fuck,”_ he chokes out, hands trembling, and knows they’re both shaking with the energy they’re sharing. There’s no more of the challenge left in Archie’s gaze, nothing but them. “Truce?” It’s a whisper, knowing how wrecked they both are, and Archie’s response is almost immediate.

  
“Truce.” The hands on Jughead’s skin relax, less firm, and Archie’s craning up to kiss him again, trying for softer until Jughead moves freely and they’re both sighing with it. The slide sets off the butterflies in Jughead’s gut, makes him pull away to arch his back when Archie swivels his hips up to meet his descents. He speeds up and it’s enough until it’s not, the pleasure plateaued somewhere close but too far from the sun, from where he wants to be. There’s a quick movement, another growl Jughead’s sure he hears this time, and Archie’s flipping them back over with a hand pulling at Jughead’s thigh and a deep thrust that pushes him into the mattress.

  
_“Christ-“_ Jughead’s gasp is rough, almost a sob, his toes curling as he arches up off the bed and against Archie, the other boy dropping his head forward with a broken moan. Jughead snaps his hips up on each down stroke and clamps his teeth in the divot of Archie’s neck when he slides against his prostate again, unclenching to hear the fervent request for _“more, please”,_ unsure which one of them says it.

  
There’s no words left, only little blasphemies and bright, gasping sighs as they speed up. Archie presses their foreheads together, panting against Jughead’s mouth until he can taste the desperation like a solid thing.

  
_"Arch-"_ Jughead can't help the way it comes out, shattered and pleading, please, just one more, and feels the earthquake in Archie's bones through every point of contact as he hits that spot in him again, the pounding of a drum, rippled sparks of delicious pleasure lighting him up from within as he falls over the edge. He thinks his heart stops, clutching Archie with sharp fingers pressed into his shoulder blades to bring him over with him, feels the ground give away under him as Archie follows, broken groan of his name branded into the skin of his shoulder like a prayer.

  
It takes longer than normal for Jughead to float back into reality from space, for the sunbeams to stop blinding him, and he opens his eyes to find Archie sprawled on top of him, turns his head with the least amount of effort necessary to graze lips over the redhead’s temple. There’s a faint hum in reply and he quirks a smile, tries to re-solidify his bones and pull his breath back into the cage of his lungs.

  
“I love you too, by the way,” Archie murmurs against his throat after several moments, face tucked into the crook of his neck, and Jughead huffs a laugh, runs his fingers lightly over the bumps in Archie’s spine.

  
“Thanks, I got that.” He feels the twitch of a smile and untucks his legs from behind Archie’s, stretches them out with a faint groan. “I think we might have to call off this competition, though.”

  
“Giving up?”

  
Jughead rolls his eyes, a movement he’s sure Archie guesses as the other boy laughs. “You wish. I’m just pretty sure neither of us is going to rest until the other one's dead.”

  
“Til death do us part,” Archie muses, hoisting himself up to grin down at Jughead.

  
“Sap.” He snorts, smirking at him and leaning up for a kiss, softer now that the fires are put out.

  
“Are you really going to call me names after all that?”

  
“My life is based off of calling people names.”

  
“And excellent sex with your boyfriend.”

  
Jughead opens his mouth, teasing reply on the back of his tongue, but the zip through Archie’s eyes is familiar, warming him back up, and he laughs. “And that.” He says instead, leaving the wildness alone, and Archie curls a hand into his with a crooked grin.

  
When they show up for school the next morning, both in high-necked shirts, Veronica looks like she won the lottery. 


End file.
